Post by Aphrodite on Dec 29, 2007 22:11:58 GMT -5
Name: Lisa
Age: 16
Location: Alberta (mountain time)
How long have you been roleplaying: Uhhh...hm. About....4 years or so?
Favourite Thing(s): Writing, drawing, painting, photography, poetry, guitar, animals, etc.
Way for me to contact you: imagination.abounds@hotmail.com
Roleplay Sample:
The night was, in candour, a picturesque scene of perfection. Of course, the caliginous afterglow of any city in the few hours succeeding sunset creates a charming image, but one cannot deny the particularly exquisite beauty of Paris in moonlight. The sky appeared as a sheet of the finest black velvet, the stars standing out as sharp pinpricks of light against the smooth darkness. The air, chilly with the bite of November, was filled with millions of tiny white snowflakes, glinting in the dim lights of the city so as to give the impression that the stars had decided to twirl down from their places in the heavens for a visit to drab earth below. A numbing northern wind blew in a whispered hush through the city, stirring up the few remaining autumn leaves trimming the cobblestones.
It was a night, indeed, when most people should be snug in their homes, warming their hands by charming, crackling fires in the hearth and preparing themselves for bed. A select few, however, remained bitten and flushed by the winter air, their lonely souls finding no refuge in any friendly home, if of course they had the will even to seek one.
One such soul was, at the moment, making her way down one of the particularly lonely streets of Paris, for the time devoid of any other vehicle or individual. Her boots made small footprints in the soft blanket of snow that had settled over the sidewalk, betraying her path for mere moments before they were filled by the quickly falling flurries. A thigh-length brown coat was pulled snugly around her slender form, lightly gloved hands shoved into the pockets seeking warmth.
They say angels are the epitome of beauty, the pictures of perfection. Their very appearance radiates goodness, innocence, simple purity. Their wings are said to be of purest white, their eyes of truest honesty. There are, however, two types of beauty…and however much an angel’s soul is the essence of glowing virtue, one who has had her purity stripped away holds the essence of haunting sin.
Haunting beauty, indeed, was as suitable a phrase as any to describe the girl now making her way through the frosty night air. Her posture was, one could say, as close to perfection as was attainable, but there was something about the way she walked that depicted a sort of defeated sorrow. Her complexion was extremely fair and considerably smooth; a porcelain texture, cheeks the colour of pale rose, blushed by the crisp air around her. Her hair fell in supple ashy dark waves down her back, the tendrils creating a curtain to mask her expression. But her eyes…her eyes were truly haunting. Void of all colour, they were filled with every imaginable shade of grey. The subtle flecks created a look of immense depth, and one glance from those God forsaken eyes could fill one’s soul with all feelings sombre and melancholic. It was ironic how, as seemingly void as they were, they could be filled so much to the brim with desolation and despair.
Pausing for a moment on the deserted sidewalk, she simply stood alone, surrounded by the run-down brick buildings scattered about this part of the city. Her face was upturned towards the dark sky as the snowflakes continued to fall, unrelenting, upon her form. They sailed slowly through the air, spiralling, tumbling through the mist, until they landed with weightless grace around and on her dark hair, creating stark contrast. But for anyone not of mortal status, anyone of a higher consciousness watching nearby, the snowflakes found another suitable perch behind her. The wings, greying feathers drooping towards Hell, were the added touch to complete her image of picturesque despair. The few lanterns that bothered to stand upright here sent their dim yellow light into the world, creating a sort of misty haze in the frosty air around her; her own ghost of a halo.
Is it an Intro or Post: Oh, I don't know...probably more fitting as an intro.
Average post length: On average, probably 4-5 paragraphs, but it depends on how much I have to work with as well.
Age: 16
Location: Alberta (mountain time)
How long have you been roleplaying: Uhhh...hm. About....4 years or so?
Favourite Thing(s): Writing, drawing, painting, photography, poetry, guitar, animals, etc.
Way for me to contact you: imagination.abounds@hotmail.com
Roleplay Sample:
The night was, in candour, a picturesque scene of perfection. Of course, the caliginous afterglow of any city in the few hours succeeding sunset creates a charming image, but one cannot deny the particularly exquisite beauty of Paris in moonlight. The sky appeared as a sheet of the finest black velvet, the stars standing out as sharp pinpricks of light against the smooth darkness. The air, chilly with the bite of November, was filled with millions of tiny white snowflakes, glinting in the dim lights of the city so as to give the impression that the stars had decided to twirl down from their places in the heavens for a visit to drab earth below. A numbing northern wind blew in a whispered hush through the city, stirring up the few remaining autumn leaves trimming the cobblestones.
It was a night, indeed, when most people should be snug in their homes, warming their hands by charming, crackling fires in the hearth and preparing themselves for bed. A select few, however, remained bitten and flushed by the winter air, their lonely souls finding no refuge in any friendly home, if of course they had the will even to seek one.
One such soul was, at the moment, making her way down one of the particularly lonely streets of Paris, for the time devoid of any other vehicle or individual. Her boots made small footprints in the soft blanket of snow that had settled over the sidewalk, betraying her path for mere moments before they were filled by the quickly falling flurries. A thigh-length brown coat was pulled snugly around her slender form, lightly gloved hands shoved into the pockets seeking warmth.
They say angels are the epitome of beauty, the pictures of perfection. Their very appearance radiates goodness, innocence, simple purity. Their wings are said to be of purest white, their eyes of truest honesty. There are, however, two types of beauty…and however much an angel’s soul is the essence of glowing virtue, one who has had her purity stripped away holds the essence of haunting sin.
Haunting beauty, indeed, was as suitable a phrase as any to describe the girl now making her way through the frosty night air. Her posture was, one could say, as close to perfection as was attainable, but there was something about the way she walked that depicted a sort of defeated sorrow. Her complexion was extremely fair and considerably smooth; a porcelain texture, cheeks the colour of pale rose, blushed by the crisp air around her. Her hair fell in supple ashy dark waves down her back, the tendrils creating a curtain to mask her expression. But her eyes…her eyes were truly haunting. Void of all colour, they were filled with every imaginable shade of grey. The subtle flecks created a look of immense depth, and one glance from those God forsaken eyes could fill one’s soul with all feelings sombre and melancholic. It was ironic how, as seemingly void as they were, they could be filled so much to the brim with desolation and despair.
Pausing for a moment on the deserted sidewalk, she simply stood alone, surrounded by the run-down brick buildings scattered about this part of the city. Her face was upturned towards the dark sky as the snowflakes continued to fall, unrelenting, upon her form. They sailed slowly through the air, spiralling, tumbling through the mist, until they landed with weightless grace around and on her dark hair, creating stark contrast. But for anyone not of mortal status, anyone of a higher consciousness watching nearby, the snowflakes found another suitable perch behind her. The wings, greying feathers drooping towards Hell, were the added touch to complete her image of picturesque despair. The few lanterns that bothered to stand upright here sent their dim yellow light into the world, creating a sort of misty haze in the frosty air around her; her own ghost of a halo.
Is it an Intro or Post: Oh, I don't know...probably more fitting as an intro.
Average post length: On average, probably 4-5 paragraphs, but it depends on how much I have to work with as well.
